


Irresponsibly Mad

by SassyLassy



Category: Heroes of the Storm (Video Game), Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 09:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20673179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyLassy/pseuds/SassyLassy
Summary: So Heroes of the Storm is launching a new event and Junkrat got a nice new gangster skin so of course I had to write something gay about it. Here have a soggy Rat go to a secret gay club to swoon over his crush.





	Irresponsibly Mad

The weather was being absolutely miserable. It had been this way all week, and Jamison 'The Rat' Fawkes had to wonder just how much longer it would hold out on giving the city a little bit of sunshine. For days now black, rumbling clouds had blocked out the sun and had done little else but rain. He grumbled as his new hat began to sag under the weight of the rain landing on it, and he wondered just how badly his suit was going to look tonight when he took it off. No doubt another job of ironing would be in order, as you didn't want to appear looking sleazy especially when working for Whitemane.

Working for Whitemane was like having nails hammered into your fingernails. Her laugh had to be one of the most obnoxious sounds he'd ever heard.

Least he took comfort in knowing two of his closest associates, Alabama 'Bama the Hammer' Kowalski and Orphea 'Babyface' Ravencourt, agreed. The two ladies didn't seem all too taken by their boss either and he'd begun to hear whispers that maybe there was a plot brewing about a heist happening right under Whitemanes nose. If that were true, and the whispers weren't lies, he'd be all for it. However if he voiced this to the wrong people he might find himself taking a sleep with the fishes and he rather prefer not doing that.

Despite how much easier it would be to sleep with fishes lately considering how much rain was falling.

At least work for the week was, technically, over. Friday night! Even with the rain still pouring he found a spring in his step as he left the office (a store front claiming to be a bookstore but inside was nothing but business most law abiding people would be shocked by) and got onto his bike. Even with the rain running down his back, Jamison was grinning brightly as he started up the engine and made his way through the darkened, wet roads. People were milling around waiting for their buses, getting out of work, or heading to a pub. 

Jamison didn't stop till he reached a side street and pulled his bike in to park. Turning off the engine he pocketed the keys into his wet pocket and made his way down another few winding streets until he came to a stop by a building that by all means looked abandoned. Peeling paint, exposed bricks, and fading posters combined with the broken windows didn't make the place look at all inviting. To most, it wasn't. To the right people, though, it was a safe haven.

Carefully the one-legged Rat made his way down a narrow set of stairs until he knocked upon the door. It was one of those that had a sliding panel further up the door which, not even mid-way through his first knock, slid open. Eyes couldn't be seen from behind it, but a presence could most certainly be felt even through the thick, solid door.

"Password?" a voice that was so deep it may cause gold to melt.

"Hudson says hello." Rat replied.

There was a pause before there was the sounds of a lock opening, and the door was pulled backwards to reveal a man wearing a suit. The dark skinned, bearded man gave Jamison a nod and gestured for him to head in.

Out of the cold at last, Jamison could hear the sounds of frivolity from further down another flight of stairs. The sounds of music and laughter grew louder with every step until he pushed his way between two drawn curtains to reveal the underground bar that he'd been frequenting since he was a young boot-licker. The thick smell of cigarettes and cigars mixed with booze filled his nostrils and he had to cough only once. All around him were people talking, some dancing to a band that stood upon an elevated stage, while others lulled around the bar where a few women were kept busy filling glasses and taking money. 

A keen eyed new-comer may notice that the men dancing were exclusively dancing with men, and the women wined and dined with other women.

Down here, you really could be who you couldn't be up there. While the outside world was soggy and damp and dark, down here it was bright, warm, and full of life. It only dared be open a few hours every other night, as the local pigs were sniffing out places just like this and arresting as many party goers as they could. Jamison himself had been thrown in jail a few times, and he hadn't even really deserved those ones! If he had to be sent to jail he rather it be for something worthwhile like robbing a liquor store or taking off with some rich bastards car. But for dancing with another bloke? That hardly seemed worth the jail time.

He removed his soggy hat and jacket, handing them to a young lad working the coat room, and made his way up to the bar.

"Rat!" greeted one of the ladies behind the bar. "Boy you look like a drowned Rat tonight." she teased.

"Ha ha, Chromie." Jamison snorted as he pulled out his wallet, and the short, blonde haired woman was already puttig his drink down just as he set the money down. Funny how she always seemed to know what he wanted before he even asked for it. "Owzit tonight?" he asked, glancing towards the crowd. "Looks packed."

"Oh but it is," Chromie replied as she handed him his exact change. "This awful weather! It's really bringing people down. And if you wanna get down, you get down here and perk right up again! Don't worry though," she said as she moved to pick up an empty glass another lady just set down upon the bar. "This rain's not going to last much longer. Why, I expect it'll clear up in just a few hours!"

"Weather folk say it's gonna last longer than that." he countered.

"Aw what do they know?" she asked.

He laughed as he brought his drink to his lips, took a sip, then stopped and looked at her, then to the stage. "I ain't missed 'im have I?"

"Your timing couldn't be more perfect!" Chromie cooed as she cleaned a glass. "He's about to hit the stage!"

Oh it was going to be a wonderful Friday night for sure. Jamison had worried he would have missed him, or that he wasn't even going to be showing tonight. The tall blonde made a giddy noise as he pushed his way through the crowd of guys and dolls, making his way towards the stage. Just as Chromie said, the band up there was just finishing up their set. The crowd was clapping and cheering, all the while Jamison pushed his way to the front so he had a good view. Sure he couldn't take one of the tables, as those were already reserved and taken up by people having a good night on a wet Friday, and standing wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him.

A young man made his way on stage moments later, wearing a very sharp looking green pinstripe suit that really popped against his beautiful dark brown skin. A frog pin he wore sparkled in the spotlight and he smiled, looking out across the crowd. "Ladies 'n gentlemen thank you! Let's thank The Payload for gracing us with their presence again!" he began clapping and it set off a chain reaction of applause throughout the bar, even Jamison offering them a small clap. "Now, tonight we got a very special guest for alla y'all swell people." there was already some clapping happening, maybe from Jamison. "Oh you know who I'm talkin' about. Now, put your hands together for Mister Mako Rutledge!"

The eruption of applause was like an explosion. Jamison clapped as loudly as he could, bringing his flesh hand slamming into his metallic one, watching the stage as a figure stepped forth from the darkness. The man was, to put it bluntly, big. Not only was he a towering figure whose height Jamison didn't or couldn't comprehend, but he was muscular too. The dark blue suit he wore tonight seemed to strain as it always did against the girth of not only his arms, but his middle as well. He was a presence few could forget, and they sooner not especially when he would open those thick lips of his to sing.

His silver hair was, as always, tied back in a ponytail that looked so tight you could strum some of his hairs to make a tune like a tiny violin. Mako Rutledge stood there before the microphone before reaching down, adjusting the mic stand as the way it was positioned now it would have only carried the thumping of his heartbeat. He hoisted it up, and lifted a large hand to wave, but also silence.

Jamison kept clapping, though.

When he had silence at last, it was only then that the man began to sing. It was like the sun was finally coming out for the people in the club. His voice was exceptionally deep, and rich, which carried the words of the infamous Frank Sinatra with all the respect they deserved. Jamison didn't know how he wasn't melting on the spot he stood as those words poured into his ears. He knew he was most certainly blushing by now, glass once again in his hands, as he watched the man sing on stage. Some people had begun to dance again, as with a backup band behind him, the atmosphere certainly asked for it.

The man moved over the stage, not really dancing but not just walking, either. His large feet carried him as he moved, taking the microphone off of its stand in order to do so. How he did it without causing any feedback was a miracle that only he seemed capable of performing. He opened up with the classic New York, New York song which echoed well with everyone here. To be in a city that never slept, the bright lights, the very energy that the image of New York that gave to anyone who heard its name. And as he sung about the city, Jamison couldn't help but imagine him walking those bright city streets with Mako. Holding that large hand with his own, well maybe more like holding one of his fingers as his hand was that much larger than his own, taking in the sights and sounds and smells together. 

Did he have it bad? Of course he did. He'd had it bad ever since he first saw this very pinnacle of manliness step up onto that stage months ago. 

And to hear such a beautiful voice flow forth from a face that looked like he'd been in a good few dozen fist fights was not the voice you'd expect. A fat, flat nose. Big lips. Thick eyebrows. To Jamison he was the most handsome man in the bar. No, the street. No wait that's not justice either. His heart gave a flutter as the song melted from New York to Fly Away with Me. Again his head filled with images of going places, anywhere, with Mako. Now, Jamsion had never been in a plane before. That was the rich people kind of travelling, no way could he ever afford a flight anywhere. But oh if he had the funds, he would swoop this beautiful man off his feet and take him wherever in the world he wanted to be.

"It's so perfect for a flying Honeymoon, oh babe."

He was looking at him.

He was looking directly at Jamison as he sung this and it was a wonder the gangster didn't drop his glass. Honestly he almost did. His eyes widened and his face turned the deepest shade of red at such a speed he felt his head grow dizzy. Mako Rutledge, hand on microphone, singing of taking someone far away to a romantic location, was looking right at him. He whimpered out a tiny noise that was barely audible above the noise of the bar coupled with Mako's singing, and the backup band. Surely it was just a happenstance. Singers always looked out across the crowds they sung to, right? It's what they do. 

Still feeling the thrill of that look Jamison put his drink to his lips again and took a huge gulp of it. The cold liquid burned down his throat and he spluttered, beginning to cough out of embarrassment. Some tough gangster he was! One look from a bloke on stage and he was a blushing spluttering mess like some lil' kid! What would his boss say, seeing him like this? ...well, considering what type of woman Whitemane was she would call him a heretic and sinner for being what he was and fire him immediately. If not have someone ice him to really atone for his sins. 

When had the song changed? When had he began singing Fly me to the Moon? It was one of Jamison's favourites. Now he had tears in his eyes and a red face. All because Mako had looked at him for but a second during a previous song. Imagine if he was looking directly at him for a longer amount of time, such as what he was doing right now.

"In other words? Hold my hand."

Jamison was close to the stage, true. He always was when Mako performed. Did he care that he was an exceptionally tall man himself and he may be blocking some poor souls view? No, not at all. He was unashamedly smitten and he hadn't really gone out of his way to hide this. He was in a bar where every patron here was 'sinful' to the world above after all. He could flirt with men here, and he'd been flirted with a few times, while nothing had come of any of it but the experience would no doubt stay with him forever. Another moment that would stay in his mind was Mako singing those words, and him being so close to the stage, that the man legitimately reached his large hand out towards him.

The world was both spinning and freezing on its axis at the same time.

Jamison didn't give his hand permission to move of its own accord, to reach, and place itself in the man's hand. 

He sunk himself into the moment. How hard, rough, yet soft the man's hand felt. How calloused fingers wrapped around his hand with such a gentle touch you could be forgiven for thinking such a soft touch came from someone of the fairer sex. Mako's cologne engulfed him too. A deep, rich, earthy smell that fought against the smell of cigars and perfume to reach his nose. Jamison breathed harder as he stared at their joined hands, feeling an outer body experience fast approaching as his eyes flicked rapidly to the man's face.

"In other words. Baby, kiss me."

The song continued and Mako released his hand, drew back, and returned to his world of the stage as he continued to sing the song. He travelled across the stage, hand that had been holding his own pressing itself to his chest as he sang. Never in Jamison's life had that song suddenly taken on such another meaning. Foolish and childish as it was he couldn't help but imagine the song was for him. Entirely for him, and nobody else. There wasn't anyone else in this club, right now. Mako was singing his love to him, and only him.

Was it pathetic? Most likely. A young man of twenty five wanting so much from a man who looked about as old eough to be his father? It was the kind of fantasy one would read up about in one of those cheap dirty magazines that littered the tables of this kind of club. But it brought Jamison a sense of happiness he didn't get outside of work. A joy that had nothing to do with violence, or harsh realities that the world outside gave him. In this club, hidden from the rain and darkness and Whitemane, Jamison 'The Rat' Fawkes could fawn over the beautifully large singer who'd captured his heart.

The rest of the performance was like some kind of warm, happy dream. The songs were, as always, sung to perfection as Mako sang his heart out and moved across the stage. Jamison swore he heard angels sing every now and then, but even they couldn't stand toe to toe with this man. The energy of his last song was riling everyone up again, electricity in the air as he belted out the final song. The young man had long since finished his drink, abandoning the glass on the floor between his foot and peg leg, clapping his hands along with the crowd who followed the beat.

When the song came to a crashing end, Jamison bounced on his heel as he clapped. Cheering, he whistled through his gapped front teeth, before going back to his excited clapping. Mako, on stage, returned the microphone to its stand before he bowed as lowly as his hefty middle would allow him. The raucous applause continued. Why wasn't he signed anywhere? Why wasn't he in Chicago, New York, or even Las Vegas? Those lungs deserved to be heard by the whole world, not just a gathering of misfits in an abandoned building. But perhaps that's where he wanted to be. Among people like himself? All these thoughts and more swam through Jamison's mind. He watched as he began to move from the stage, waving towards the crowd once more... and for the umpteenth time that night he looked right at him.

Mako and Jamison looked at one another for a second that felt like a lifetime before Mako turned away, and vanished off stage. 

Lucio was returning to the stage but Jamison didn't hear what he had to say. He has moved closer, along the stage, watching the shape of Mako move until he was gone.

Not five minutes later, there was grumbling from a slender, well dressed man with long white hair as he made his way down a hallway. He walked with a bit of a limp but nothing too noticable. Behind him, Jamison walked. Held tightly in his hands was one of the more expensive bottles of drink the club offered. A whole $20. Oh he was going to pay for that later. But bravery had found him, had grabbed him by the throat, and dragged him to the bar. That whole song and dance number had been an invitation. It was flirting. You can't say it wasn't. And if it wasn't, well! Can't say you didn't try. 

"Thanks Xul, mate. I owe ya one."

"Yes. You do." the slender man said as he came to a stop by a door, and gestured towards it. "Mr. Rutledge is in this room." he hesitated a moment and offered the younger man an attempt at a smile. "Good luck."

And like a ghost, he was gone.

"...yeah thanks."

Now that he was standing here, though, Jamison felt his bravery begin to leave him. His heart was hammering within his chest fast enough it almost felt like it was about to burst out. What if it had meant nothing? It may be a new way of interacting with the crowd while singing. Why would he be interested in a gimpy legged gangster who always came to the club sporting new bandages and band aids? He was a skinny, fast talking, hired muscle! What kind of a chance did he have with Mako Rutledge, exactly? What if he was married? Involved with someone? He'd never worn a ring, though. Nor did his darker skin have a mark showing that he'd recently removed one. 

He looked down at his own hands. Littered with rings. Each one fake. 

Feeling like he was half way between throwing up and running Jamison 'The Rat' Fawkes lifted his hand, and rapt it against the door. Instincts whispered at him to run, to save face, but his foot remained steadfast as the door began to slowly open and for the second time this night he felt a presence on the other side of the door before it even opened. He came face to chest with Mako Rutledge, still wearing his suit, though his neck tie was undone and hanging loosely around his neck. His cool blue eyes met Jamison's yellowing eyes, before they glanced at the drink in his hands. Then, once again, back to the young man's face.

He was just opening his mouth to ask before Jamison interrupted him.

Not with words, but with a song. One he'd heard on the radio many times, one he'd even heard Mako sing before just not tonight. And his voice was not as smooth or golden like Mako's. If was the opposite. This was the voice of a young man with no experience. No training. Certainly not someone who'd practiced, much less performed before a crowd of people. But despite all this, and his trembling anxious voice, the words were honest. They were true. A rare thing with a gangster. Which is what made them shine all the brighter in the darkened hall they stood against one another in.

"Call me irresponsible. Yes, I'm unreliable. But it's... undeniably true. I'm irresponsibly mad for you."


End file.
